


Reaching for Something New

by queenieofaces



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: (plus some very vague references to 8 and 9), Canon Compliant to episode 9, Character Study, M/M, Translation Available, Victor's POV, episodes 1-7, is this fic or is this meta? WHY NOT BOTH, then was spectacularly jossed, way too much parallelism and unreliable narration because I am nothing if not predictable
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-06
Updated: 2016-12-06
Packaged: 2018-09-06 19:14:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8765608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenieofaces/pseuds/queenieofaces
Summary: If he enjoys Yuuri’s gob-smacked expression, if he feels a little thrill when he teases him with an almost-kiss, if he occasionally gets too close for anyone to write it off as “cultural differences,” he tells himself that this is all for the sake of Yuuri’s skating.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Постигая новое](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12690438) by [green_pastry (Weis)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Weis/pseuds/green_pastry)



> Unbeta'd, so when you inevitably find deeply embarrassing typos, please tell me so I can fix them.
> 
> Edit: Listen, this got jossed within 48 hours of me posting it and I'm absolutely thrilled.

Victor is not impulsive, despite what Yakov might say.  Victor is first and foremost an artist.  He does not strive for perfection (perfection is easy) but rather for something _new_.  He has always endeavored to surprise his audience, to keep them breathless and off-balance.

Recently, something new has felt harder and harder to come by.  No one is surprised when he wins medal after medal, when he lands every jump perfectly and executes every move flawlessly.  When he tries to choreograph routines for the next season, they feel flat and lifeless--he’ll skate them beautifully, of course, but they won’t surprise anyone.  He’ll give them perfection, but they already expect perfection from him.

***

Victor sees Katsuki Yuuri skate his program, out of shape and out of practice, but somehow charming.  He skates in silence, but Victor can see the music in the way he moves, can hear the music carrying him forward and lifting him upward.  Victor has seen him skate before, of course, but his programs have never been particularly memorable.  This, though, Yuuri skating Victor’s choreography, this transforms something technically beautiful but flat into something _new_.

Victor sees Yuuri skate his program and inspiration strikes him like lightning.  He feels the world tilt, feels breathless and off-balance.

Victor is not impulsive, but he can’t turn his back on someone who has surprised him so thoroughly.

***

Victor knows how to draw people’s eyes to him, how to magnify the limelight to make himself the brightest person in the room.  He knows when to wink, when to smile and wave.  He is larger than life, overemotes and performs for cameras only he can see.

He understands how to make an entrance, so when Yuuri comes sprinting into the hot spring, of course he stands and poses and declares his intention to coach Yuuri while buck naked.

Victor may have his faults, but no one can say he doesn't know how to make an impression.

***

Victor has never had close friends, even among the other skaters.  He's had rink mates before, of course, but never peers, never equals.  He's been on top of the world for so long, has always been an idol or a rival, someone to aspire to reach or surpass.

Victor sees Yuuri look at him like he's a god or a fantasy made flesh, and that's fine.  Victor is used to being untouchable, unreachable.  He can do the touching, the reaching for the both of them.

He asks about Yuuri’s favorite food, about his town, about the rink he skates in.  He asks about lovers, about ex-lovers.  He asks to sleep with him, wants to build trust in their relationship.  He reaches and reaches and clumsily tries to connect.

***

Victor is larger than life, overemotes and performs.  He is genuinely excited by ninja houses, by fake castles and summer festivals and new foods, but he's never learned how to express himself in small ways, to play a supporting role.  He can fill any role he's given--the charismatic playboy, the artist reaching for ever greater heights, the harshly critical but ultimately supportive mentor--but he has always been the main character, the center of attention.  The audience wants a show, so he’ll give them one, keep them breathless and off-balance, won’t let them look away for a single second.

“I’m surprised you think you can choose your own image,” he tells Yuuri and Yurio when he assigns them their pieces.  Victor has not chosen his own image, of course--it’s been built up over years in the limelight, interviews and performances and social media and paparazzi shots.  It’s been carefully curated by his coaches, by his choreographers, and most recently by him.  Of course they can’t choose their own images--they can only make do with what they’re given, and the wider their possible range, the better equipped they’ll be.  If they get pigeonholed, if they get typecast, they'll stagnate, and so Victor pushes them out of their comfort zones.  It's sink or swim, but better to flounder where the water is shallow and the stakes are low.

***

Yurio demands Victor's return to Russia if he wins, demands his expertise and attention.  Victor smiles, suave and careless, and agrees.  Raising the stakes will make them both push themselves harder, will force them past their limits.

"Yuuri, what about you?  What would you like if you win?" Victor asks.

"I want to eat katsudon with you, Victor,” Yuuri declares, utterly serious.  “I want to keep on winning and keep on eating katsudon!"

Victor feels the world tilt.  Somehow, Yuuri keeps surprising him, keeps him breathless and off-balance.  No one has ever wanted just his presence before--not Victor the champion figure skater, not Victor the genius choreographer, just...Victor.

He smiles--not his suave, camera-ready smile, not his overexcited smile for delicious food or an exciting adventure.  This smile is unpracticed and feels awkward but...genuine.  It feels like lightning, sudden and bright and hot.

"Great!  That's exactly what I like!"

***

Victor understands the need to motivate his students, to push them to their limits and then past them.  He understands the need for both a carrot and a stick, for constant vigilance against complacency.

Victor sees the way Yuuri looks at him, catches the stares when Yuuri thinks he isn’t paying attention.  He sees the way Yuuri blushes and stumbles over his words, the way he flinches and skitters away from contact.

Victor knows that he’s attractive--he’s been in the limelight long enough to have no illusions about his looks.  He’s always been comfortable leveraging his looks, charming and flirting his way through life, and coaching is no exception.  He’s going to be a genius coach, and he’s more than willing to use unconventional methods.

Victor tries to keep Yuuri on his toes, makes him stand under waterfalls and jog through Hasetsu, switches up their training routine when he feels Yuuri is getting too comfortable.  He touches him freely and often, correcting his posture and keeping him off-balance.  He wants Yuuri to feel desirable, hopes that will help up his self-confidence and unlock his eros.  

If he enjoys Yuuri’s gob-smacked expression, if he feels a little thrill when he teases him with an almost-kiss, if he occasionally gets too close for anyone to write it off as “cultural differences,” he tells himself that this is all for the sake of Yuuri’s skating.

***

Yuuri reaches for Victor, pulls him into a hug and asks him to watch only him.

Victor is knocked off balance by Yuuri’s seriousness, by the moment of quiet intimacy.  He is used to being untouchable, unreachable, to being the one to bridge the gap and pull Yuuri close.

The world tilts, and, for a moment, Victor forgets to perform, forgets that there’s an audience waiting.  “Of course,” he says, quietly.  “I love katsudon.”  It's an inane remark, he knows, but he also means it entirely.

Yuuri moves completely differently than in practice, unpolished but still somehow alluring, and Victor can’t help but whistle appreciatively.  Victor keeps his promise, not because there are hundreds of eyes and cameras on him, but because he can’t look away.

When he reaches for Yuuri on the podium, he delights in Yuuri’s little start before he melts into the touch.  As Yuuri declares his intention to win the Grand Prix, Victor hopes that he will.  He wants to keep Yuuri pulled snugly against his side, wants to keep watching him and only him.  He wants to keep being surprised.

***

“You didn't stay for the award ceremony,” Victor says, the next time Yurio calls.  Truth be told, he probably wouldn't have noticed if Yuuko hadn’t pointed it out to him.  He may be a genius coach, but sometimes he's forgetful, gets caught up in mugging for the camera and forgets that he's supposed to be the judge and the prize all in one, not the star.

Yuri snorts.  “There was no point.  One look at your face, and I knew the fatso had won.”

After Victor hangs up, he realizes that he has no idea what his face was doing while watching Yuuri’s program.

***

There are some days when Yuuri seems to be vibrating out of his skin without Victor even touching him.  He disappears to the rink or Minako’s studio early in the morning or late at night without a word to Victor, pushes himself to the breaking point.  He flubs easy jumps, teeters as he spins, loses track of his place in step sequences.  He skates like something’s chasing him, like if he slows down for the shortest moment, he’ll be swallowed alive.

On those days, Victor nudges and scolds, critiques and praises, tries to use his voice and his hands and every ounce of charisma in his body to bring Yuuri back down to earth.  None of it works, not really, and Yuuri scurries away from him, ignores his invitations to go out together, to bathe together, to sleep together, to just _be_ together and give Victor the chance to fix whatever is happening in Yuuri’s mind.  Eventually--in the next hour or the next day--Yuuri settles and returns to Victor, quietly guilty but ready to get back to work.  Victor keeps nudging at Yuuri, tells him to believe in himself and trust his own decisions, but nothing seems to stick, and a few days later the cycle begins again.

***

Yuuri is practicing his quadruple Salchow, flubbing jump after jump as he gets more and more anxious.  His body hits the ice, and Victor winces in sympathy.  “Alright, that's enough; take a break.”

Yuuri looks close to tears as he steps off the ice, and Victor’s fingers itch at the sight.  He wants to smooth Yuuri’s hair back, to wipe his eyes, to hold him until his breath steadies and his body relaxes against him.  He wants to touch, not to keep Yuuri on his toes or improve his performance, but for the sheer intimacy of it.

Victor looks at Yuuri and feels the world tilt, feels breathless and off-balance.

***

 _Fuck_.

This was not part of the plan.  Victor was supposed to be a genius coach, was supposed to push Yuuri to victory and astonish the world.  Victor was supposed to be inspired, to chase after that electrifying feeling and emerge as something _new_.

Yuuri is cute, yes; Victor thought him cute from the beginning.  He's adorable when he blushes, when he stammers, when he gets that determined expression before making a declaration.  Victor calls him a piglet, but that shifted from an insult to a pet name months ago--he won't admit it aloud, but he likes Yuuri’s round face, likes how soft and comfortable he is when he pulls him in tight.

And, yes, Victor feels...something when he sees Yuuri skate Eros, but that’s just proof that his performance has improved, right?  If his eyes have lingered too long, if his thoughts have ever strayed to inappropriate places, well, he can leverage that to make himself a better coach, to push Yuuri farther.  Victor is used to rechanneling his emotions, to taking them and molding them into something beautiful and appropriate for public consumption.

But the urge to touch is distracting, the urge to turn a teased kiss into a real one, to poke Yuuri’s cheeks and laugh at the face he'll inevitably make, to pull Yuuri close and keep him there.  It's easy, too easy to praise him, to tell him he's amazing and stunning and perfect.  He wants Yuuri to make the world regret underestimating him, not because it'll demonstrate what a superb coach Victor is but because Yuuri deserves every bit of adoration that comes his way.  Victor wants Yuuri to be brilliant, but mostly he _wants_.

In summary: _Fuck._

***  

Victor’s first language may be Russian but his most fluent language is skating.  He has always had a knack for conveying emotion with his body, for distilling an inner monologue into a few brilliant minutes of movement and music.

Victor is no poet, no great orator.  He knows he's frequently too blunt, too straightforward and direct, that he can be abrasive and off-putting when he opens his mouth.  He's gotten good at communicating in expressions and gestures, with his body instead of his voice.  A picture is worth a thousand words, and he is _very_ photogenic.

 _There are probably some things that need to be expressed in words,_ he thinks morosely, as Yuuri enters yet another one of his avoidant phases.  He wants to ask what's wrong, but instead he asks Yuuri to come to the ocean with him.

Yuuri opens up on his own, talks about how he hated to have someone seeing his moment of weakness and intruding on his feelings.  He looks tired and anxious and vulnerable as he speaks, but he _is_ speaking, at least, instead of shutting down and running away.

Victor wants nothing more than to scoop him up and hold him, but he knows that would be the wrong move.  Yuuri is reaching out hesitantly, and he has to be delicate.

“Yuuri, you're not weak,” he says softly.

He realizes he has no idea how the rest of this conversation is supposed to go--he has no script, no role to play.  He's Yuuri’s coach, yes, but this doesn't feel like a coach-student conversation--he certainly never would have had this kind of heart-to-heart with Yakov.  He feels like their relationship has shifted, but he doesn't know how much of that feeling is wishful thinking, him projecting something that isn't there into an ambiguous space.

“What do you want me to be to you?” he asks, trying to find his footing.  “A father figure?”

“No.”

“A brother, then?  A friend?”  It's been awhile since he had an equal, but he's willing to give it a try.

Yuuri makes a non-committal noise.

“Then, your lover, I guess,” he says, intentionally keeping his voice light.  “I can try my best.”

“No, no, no, no, no, no!” Victor feels his heart sink, before Yuuri forges on.  “I want you to stay who you are, Victor!”

Victor feels his heart swoop back up, feels breathless and off-balance.  He knows how to play any role he's given--how to be Victor the skating god or Victor the genius coach or Victor the passionate lover--but he has no idea who Victor, no epithet attached, is.  

But if that is who Yuuri wants, well, who is Victor to deny him?

***

Something shifts between them after that day on the beach.  The distance between them seems smaller, the pedestal Victor has stood on so long finally starting to wear down.  Yuuri doesn’t look at Victor like he’s a god or a fantasy made flesh anymore, downgrades him to a mere idol.  He reaches out to poke Victor’s head (Victor reacts in the most melodramatic way possible, because some things, at least, have to stay constant), doesn’t blush or stutter as he scrambles into Victor’s bed to show him the music for his free skate, doesn’t jump when Victor leans on his shoulder.  Victor praises him, tries not to burst with pride as he watches Yuuri push himself to his limits and then beyond.

***

Victor goes into full coach mode once they arrive in Okayama, embraces the clearly defined role and performs it brilliantly.  Yuuri, on the other hand, suddenly regresses.  This is Victor’s glorious debut as a coach, even if it’s at a competition that Yuuri will win easily, but Yuuri seems to have lost all his self-confidence.  When Victor brags about him, Yuuri shrinks into himself.  Victor dresses up for him, but Yuuri just seems irritated.  Victor tries to give him a pep talk (he practiced in the mirror and everything, had the timing just right), but Yuuri walks right past him.

Victor watches Yuuri warm up, sees all the signs that herald his anxiety ramping up, and doesn’t understand.  Yuuri was _fine_ , was finally starting to make real progress and be comfortable in his own skin, but now he’s a jittery mess.  There’s an audience, yes, and cameras and other competitors, but that shouldn’t _matter_.  Yuuri doesn’t have Victor’s ease with the media, but he’s clearly the most talented skater here by a wide margin.  This should be a breeze for him.

The warm up period ends, and Yuuri returns to Victor’s side momentarily, uneasy and unwilling to meet his gaze.  Victor feels his stomach clench, knows he has to do something, but doesn’t know what.  He has no script here, no one to model himself upon--he’s never had stage fright, so he’s never had a coach try to talk him down.  He knows words will be insufficient, itches to touch instead.

“Yuuri, turn around,” he commands.

Yuuri complies despite his obvious confusion.

Victor embraces him from behind, his heart in his throat.  The cameras begin flashing almost immediately, but Victor focuses not on the audience, but on Yuuri, on the way he flinches and then relaxes almost imperceptibly a moment later, softening in Victor’s arms, despite the barrier between them.  Victor wants, oh, he wants.  He wants Yuuri to stay here in his arms, but he also wants Yuuri to go out there, prove to the world that he is magnificent, stun them breathless and leave them wanting more.

“Seduce me with all you have,” Victor says, trying to turn the gesture into something productive, into another lure for Yuuri, something to drive him to perform better.  He knows Yuuri finds him attractive, so perhaps he can spin it that way, turn it into another ploy by the genius coach instead of a foolhardy, very public expression of affection by a besotted admirer.  “If your performance can charm me, you can enthrall the entire audience.  That's what I always say in practice, right?”

“R-right,” Yuuri says, sounding unconvinced.

Yuuri’s performance is underwhelming, and Victor sets in on him as soon as he steps off the ice.  Victor expected more from him, for him to perform better in front of an audience than alone at Hasetsu Ice Castle.  It’s a low-pressure environment, and yet Yuuri isn’t dazzling anyone, isn’t proving that Victor is a genius coach and a true artist, isn’t living up to his potential.

Victor tells Yuuri to lower the difficulty of the jumps in his free skate and focus on the performance, and Yuuri immediately objects.  “Are you saying you can’t listen to your coach?” Victor shoots back, even as he tells the camera crews that they’ll see Yuuri be perfect during the free skate.  Yuuri is disappointed and upset, but Victor needs to be stern.  Coaches are stern, have high expectations they demand their students meet, prod and poke, praise and criticize, cajole and plead and bribe to get their students to do their best.  Victor demands perfection, because he knows Yuuri can give it to him.

***

Victor sees Yuuri’s behavior around Minami, and that’s yet another source of disappointment.  He had forgotten how socially awkward Yuuri is, how he shrinks from the limelight, avoids cameras, and freezes up when he has to talk to people.  He had forgotten that, even though Yuuri has grown comfortable around him, he didn’t used to be.

Still, if Yuuri is going to be a competitor, he needs to act like one.  “How can someone who can’t motivate others motivate himself?” he asks Yuuri, frowning.  “I’m disappointed in you.”  He turns and walks away before he can see Yuuri’s expression, if it’s betrayal or guilt or irritation.  A coach should be strong and stern and not swayed by his student’s emotional state.  It’s his job to make Yuuri skate well and have confidence, but it’s also his job to make Yuuri deal with fans politely, to build the sorts of relationships that will benefit him down the line.  Yuuri can’t just be an artist on the ice--figure skating requires being on and aware at all times.  You never know where paparazzi might be lurking, never know when a social misstep off the ice might affect your scores on it.

***

Yuuri cheers Minami on, and Victor is relieved.  Perhaps he is finally overcoming whatever held him back in the short program, is finally ready to live up to his potential.

When Yuuri sheds his jacket, Victor can’t help but call him beautiful, uses the pretext of chapped lips to touch him.  Yuuri seems to have finally settled, moved from jittering anxiety to tranquil blankness.

Victor pulls him into a hug, and Yuuri hugs back.

His performance hasn’t improved much, though.  Victor has seen him skate this program better during practice--he looks too stiff, doesn’t take Victor’s advice on downgrading the difficulty of the jumps, doesn’t look like he’s enjoying this at all.

But, still.  

Still, despite all the imperfections, despite the inconsistency, despite Yuuri not living up to his potential, Victor can’t look away.  Yuuri becomes more fluid, more graceful in the second half of the program, pulls the crowd into the story with the elegant lines of his body, the way he embodies the music.  Yuuri still flubs his jumps, is still unpolished and raw, but he’s also breathtaking.

This is not the glorious debut Victor imagined, Yuuri breathing heavily and bleeding from the nose.  He imagined a flawless performance from Yuuri, an awestruck crowd clamoring for more.  He imagined a grateful and obedient Yuuri pulled snugly against his side, the camera flashes preserving the moment for transmission to the rest of the world.  In his weaker moments, he imagined waiting until they were alone and finally making good on that teased kiss.

This is...disappointing.  But Yuuri is looking at him, equal parts guilty and apologetic and wanting validation.  Victor could lecture him, perhaps _should_ lecture him, but instead he opens his arms.

***

Yuuri announces his theme, declares his love on TV, and Victor feels the world tilt, feels breathless and off-balance.  Yuuri’s family seems unfazed, more irritated that he referred to all of them as abstract than surprised by his remarks about Victor, and Victor wonders if perhaps there is some nuance in Japanese that he is misunderstanding here.  Perhaps there is some other meaning to “love,” or perhaps some of the unfamiliar words fundamentally changed the meaning of the rest of the sentence.  He laughs it off with a remark about Yuuri’s necktie, but, still, the comments settle in his gut, uncomfortable and heavy.

He finds a fan translation of the speech into English on the internet, and then one into Russian, and, no, he understood the gist of it, even if he missed words here and there.  Yuuri treats Victor as he always has, doesn’t act like he declared his love for him on national television, so Victor doesn’t push it.  Perhaps this was all a performance for Yuuri, a story to add flavor to his program, to reel his audience in.  Yuuri seemed genuine, seemed sincere (Yuuri always seems genuine, always seems sincere), but Victor has told plenty of stories, has played plenty of roles before--some days it’s hard for him to tell what’s really him and what he has gotten so used to performing that it’s become part of him.  Perhaps he misunderstood some subtext, couldn’t read between the lines quite right.  Perhaps this sort of declaration is common in Japan.

Or, perhaps, Yuuri isn’t willing or ready to talk about this just yet, and as much as Victor would like to reach across the gap and shake it out of him, he should wait for Yuuri to broach it himself, for Yuuri to reach for him for once.

Still, traitorous hope nips at his heels, and every time he feels that itch to reach, to touch, he thinks, _Well, maybe_.

***

They arrive in Beijing for the China Cup, and Yakov immediately tears into Victor, telling him he feels sick seeing him playing pretend-coach.  It’s a recurring theme for the whole time they are there, competitors and coaches coming to Victor and asking him when he’ll return, _assuming_ that he’ll return.

He doesn’t normally shy from the limelight, doesn’t mind being the center of attention, but for some reason, this time he doesn’t enjoy the scrutiny at all.   _Yuuri_ should be the one getting attention, but everyone is ignoring him in favor of Victor, in favor of Victor’s imagined future.

Victor smiles and laughs and dodges their questions.  He had thought he would return, that this would be a short break to regain much needed inspiration, but now he’s not so sure.  It’s becoming harder and harder to imagine leaving Yuuri, to imagine just dropping him and chasing after inspiration elsewhere.  Skating hasn’t made him happy for a while, not like this.  If he can keep being an artist, can keep using Yuuri as his muse and his canvas, why go back?

And, yes, he has no proof that Yuuri feels the same way he does.  He knows that Yuuri is attracted to him, knows that Yuuri has some sort of feelings for him, but Yuuri is quiet and reserved about his feelings, doesn’t reciprocate even though he’s stopped outright rejecting Victor’s advances.  Victor can reach and reach, but if Yuuri won’t meet him halfway, he might as well still be untouchable, still be on a pedestal.

If Victor gets a bit handsy at dinner, he has the excuse of inebriation--drinking too much will, after all, lead to all sorts of strange behavior.  There’s no need to view Victor’s clinging as a plea for reassurance that he’s making the right choice, a sad attempt to convey his feelings to Yuuri in the hope of reciprocation.

***

In contrast to Okayama, Yuuri becomes ultra-focused before the short program, his gaze white hot and piercing.  Yuuri looks at Victor like he wants to lay claim to him, and Victor tries not to squirm.

Victor is no poet, no great orator.  He has never been particularly eloquent, preferring to speak through action.  But some things are better said.

Victor reaches for Yuuri’s hand.  "The time to seduce me by picturing katsudon and women during your skate is over.  You can fight with your own personal charm."  He hopes Yuuri can read between the lines, hopes Yuuri understands what he’s trying to say.   _You_ , he thinks. _I just want you to stay as you are.  You are enough_.

Yuuri entwines their fingers, forcing himself into Victor’s space until he takes up his entire field of vision.  "Don't ever take your eyes off me."  

As he skates away, Victor touches his forehead, feeling the empty space that Yuuri dominated just moments before.  The air is electric, and Victor is breathless.  It’s a flirtation, a hook for the audience, but it feels genuine, feels sincere.

Yuuri is eros embodied, music given human form.  Victor has demanded perfection, and Yuuri gives it to him, surpasses Victor’s expectations and leaves him aching.  He skates with confidence and drive, draws everyone’s eyes to him.   _You’re mine_ , he seems to say with every line of his body, with every smile and tilt of his head.   _I have you in the palm of my hand_.

Victor knows he should be detached, knows he should be critical, but he’s swept up in the performance, cheers and shouts and punches the air.  If he weren’t already head over heels for Yuuri, this would have sent him tumbling over the edge.

In the kiss and cry he can’t hold himself back, hams it up for the camera and touches Yuuri more than he should.  “Yuuri, did it feel that great?” he murmurs in his ear, reveling in the intimacy.

Yuuri doesn’t look at him, seems a little shellshocked as he says, "Well, I was hoping everyone else felt great watching me."

Victor has to find some channel for the sudden swell of affection he feels for Yuuri, pulls him in tight and ruffles his hair.  "Of course they'd feel great watching a performance like that."  Victor knows it’s a risk, knows he’s showing his hand, but he could justify it as a bit of overly effusive praise for a particularly impressive performance.

Victor spends the rest of the day touching Yuuri freely, clinging to him and murmuring in his ear.  Yuuri never pushes him off, never backs away, never comments on it, and traitorous hope whispers, _Well, maybe_.

***

Yuuri’s anxiety climbs higher and higher the closer they get to the free skate.  He seems to be vibrating out of his skin, ripping apart at the seams.  Victor tries to hold him together, to physically hold him down and make him sleep, but Yuuri does not relax into him, does not steady beneath his hands.  Victor tries to hold him back from self-destruction, tells him not to practice jumps during the warm-up, but of course Yuuri doesn’t listen.  Victor tries to laugh it off, but Yuuri jitters and spirals.

Victor drags him farther and farther from prying eyes, tries to shield him from the media’s critical gaze, tries to pull him away from himself.  A coach should be strong and stern and not swayed by his student’s emotional state, he thinks, arm around Yuuri’s shoulder as he leads him to the parking garage, but Yuuri’s anxiety is infectious, seeps into Victor and disrupts his ability to feign calmness, to play the part of the unflappable coach.  “Let’s take deep breaths,” he says, but Yuuri seems to have forgotten how to breathe entirely.

When the applause echoes through the garage, Yuuri looks small and lost and vulnerable, like he’s going to break down and sink into the concrete.  Victor grabs his head, tries to block his ears.  He knows he’s being unreasonable, knows he is showing his hand, but he _needs_ Yuuri to calm down, needs him to listen to his voice and regain his motivation.  He clutches Yuuri’s head, hoping that his touch will ground him, will bring him back into his body and back down to earth.

Victor understands the need to motivate his students, to push them to their limits and then past them.  He understands the need for both a carrot and a stick, for constant vigilance against complacency.  Yuuri is falling apart, and Victor needs him to _want_ something enough to overcome his anxiety.

"If you mess up this free skate and miss the podium, I'll take responsibility by resigning as your coach."  He knows it’s cruel, he knows it will break Yuuri’s fragile heart, but he’s desperate.  He can turn himself into a lure for Yuuri again, motivate him to push past this and emerge stronger and better.  The alternative is to cling to Yuuri and beg him to pull himself together, probably confess his feelings in a spectacularly messy way, and that feels even less productive.

Yuuri sobs his eyes out in a parking garage, shouts Victor down, and Victor immediately knows he miscalculated.  Yuuri is upset, and Victor’s heart breaks a little bit as he backpedals.  Victor tries to reassure him, hands hovering uselessly in front of Yuuri.  He wants to pull him in tight, to tell him that of course he won’t leave, no matter how badly Yuuri flubs the free skate, but it’s too late.  Yuuri is bawling his eyes out, and it’s all Victor’s fault.

"I'm not good with people crying in front of me,” Victor confesses awkwardly.  “I don't know what I should do.  Should I just kiss you or something?"  He ignores his heart thundering in his ears, holds out the vaguest hope that Yuuri will say, “Yes,” will allow himself to be kissed back to stability.

"No!" Yuuri screams.  "Just have more faith than I do that I'll win!  You don't have to say anything.  Just stand by me!"

Victor feels the world lurch beneath him, the ground disappearing from under his feet.  How can Yuuri want something so simple?  How can something so simple seem so complicated?  Victor would do just about anything to make Yuuri feel better, to help him settle and protect him, but the idea of just standing by and watching and _believing_ makes him feel helpless.  He’s a man of action, the main character, not the useless princess who cries and prays while the knights ride into battle.

Still, it’s obvious that Victor doesn’t understand what Yuuri needs, doesn’t understand how to deal with Yuuri’s anxiety.  If Yuuri wants him in such a passive role, he’s desperate enough to try.  He will take that role and he will play it beautifully, no matter how much he aches for action, itches for something more, some grand gesture or stunning reveal.  It goes against everything he thought he was, but given the choice between the old him and the man who could support Yuuri, who would be worthy of supporting Yuuri, he’d unhesitatingly choose the latter.

***

As they return to the rink, guilt gnaws at Victor.  He’s pushed Yuuri too far, pushed him too hard, made everything worse.  He thought he could use a grand gesture to motivate Yuuri, but instead it backfired and made him look callous and inexperienced.  This is surely one of the least glorious coach debuts in figure skating history.

Yuuri drops his tissue, and when Victor scrambles to catch it, Yuuri pokes the top of his head.  It’s a reminder that Victor is touchable, that Victor is reachable, that Victor is a fallible human being, not a god or a fantasy made flesh.  Victor doesn’t know what to do with this information.  Victor is supposed to be a genius coach, is supposed to be flawless.  Victor is supposed to wow Yuuri with his excellence, is supposed to stand beside him as he receives the adoration of the world.  Victor is supposed to be perfect, and Victor is supposed to make Yuuri perfect.

Victor is supposed to be perfect, but he can’t be.  All he can do is have faith and stand by Yuuri.

***

Victor’s first language may be Russian but his most fluent language is skating.  He has always had a knack for conveying emotion with his body, for distilling an inner monologue into a few brilliant minutes of movement and music.

Yuuri, it seems, has a similar knack, a similar fluency.  His eyes are still red, but his movements are graceful and fluid from the start.  His performance isn’t perfect, but it doesn’t need to be--he gets his point across just fine even with the missteps, melds his body with the music to tell a story about himself and Victor and love.  It’s tender and gentle and a little bit tentative, the good and the bad laid out beside each other, but isn’t that the way love is?  Isn’t it reaching out blindly, reaching and reaching and hoping that the other person will meet you halfway, that someday you’ll connect?

Yuuri turns his final toe loop into a flip and Victor feels the world tilt.  There is no room here for misinterpretation, no way to miss nuance in a non-native language.  This isn’t a ploy to hook the audience, a performative flirtation to up the stakes.  This is Yuuri bridging a gap, reaching out to Victor and waiting for his reaction.

Victor is not impulsive, but he can’t turn his back on someone who has surprised him so thoroughly.  In that moment, he is not thinking about the cameras or the audience, about how to push Yuuri further and command a better performance.  He is not thinking about how to best fill the role he’s been given, how to be a genius coach or a true artist.  He is not thinking of his image.  He merely wants to reciprocate, to meet Yuuri where he is.

Victor launches himself at Yuuri and kisses him on international television.

The shock of their collision with the ice rattles his entire body--the back of his hand smarts, and he knows it’s going to bruise.  It’s cold and uncomfortable and Yuuri is a much less effective pillow than Victor would have hoped, but Yuuri is looking up at him, gaze soft and lips curved, and Victor can’t bring himself to care about anything else.

***

The moment that they’re in private, the moment that there’s a door between them and the rest of the world, Yuuri bridges the gap between them, pulls Victor down and kisses him.

“Oh,” Victor says breathlessly when Yuuri finally pulls away.

“Sorry,” Yuuri says, and Victor doesn’t know why he’s apologizing.  God, he's gorgeous--exhausted and sleep-deprived and rung out, but still gorgeous.  Victor cups Yuuri’s cheek in his hand, and Yuuri leans into the touch, eyes fluttering closed.

“Sorry,” Victor echoes back, thinking of parking garages and feeling helpless.  “I’ll do better next time.”

“We’ll do better next time,” Yuuri agrees.  He eases the glove off Victor’s hand, gently presses his lips to the forming bruise, and for some reason that small gesture wrecks Victor more than the kiss, leaves him wide-eyed and wondering.  It’s tender and sincere, and Victor loves him, unabashedly and without ulterior motive.

***

Victor doesn’t know how to be a genius coach, doesn't know how to play a supporting role.  He doesn't know how to stand by Yuuri, to just have faith in him.  He doesn’t know how to keep Yuuri calm and grounded, doesn’t know how to chase anxiety away and replace it with self-confidence.

But he knows how to shower Yuuri in affection, how to reach without a tease or a threat, how to touch for the sheer intimacy of it.  He still overemotes, still reacts with an eye on the audience, but he is learning how to be genuine, how to push himself beyond the facade.  Victor will always be a performer, in some ways, will always curate himself for public consumption, but he allows himself moments of vulnerability, moments where they aren’t coach and student, mentor and mentee, but just Victor and Yuuri.

Victor is not perfect (perfection is not easy), but he is trying his best.  They are both trying their best, and together they create something _new_.

**Author's Note:**

> GUESS WHAT, this is the second fanfic I've ever written in my entire life (and it shows). THANKS, YOI.
> 
> Episodes 8 and 9 wrecked me, which is why...I wrote a fic...that isn't about those episodes...???? There was logic behind this, I promise. 
> 
> (The logic is mainly that I hadn't seen fanfic addressing two particular points: a) Yuuri being a little ball of anxiety and Victor having no idea how to deal with that and b) the extent to which a lot of Victor's behavior, especially in early episodes, strikes me as intensely performative. I'm a hilariously slow writer, so since I started writing I've seen a couple of good fic addressing point b) but still not much addressing point a). Thus, this fic. Whoops.)


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